


"The Brolly Scene" from the WiP "Where Angels Tread"

by stellamira1936



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Light Bondage, Masturbation, Other, brollylock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellamira1936/pseuds/stellamira1936
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girl really needed a hand, but Mycroft had to leave in a hurry...</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The Brolly Scene" from the WiP "Where Angels Tread"

**Author's Note:**

> An excerpt from Chapter 3: "Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power." ~ Oscar Wilde  
> The entire work can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2171046/chapters/4748778/)

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" Long pause. "I'm not a magician, Sherlock. In any case it's late, there's nothing I can do at the moment." Pause. Exasperated sigh. "Oh, all right. Yes. I'll see to it myself." There is a beep as he hangs up, and a long groan.

And I hear him getting dressed. He's leaving? I crank my head around to catch a glimpse of the other end of the room and sure enough, Holmes is getting dressed, quickly, and obviously with great annoyance. He'd better not forget about me. I don't want to shout out, not in the mood he seems to be in, but I don't want to be stuck here until the maid comes in the morning, either. I wait until he's got his shoes tied and is slipping his coat on, and then I quietly call out, "Um, help?"

He looks up, surprised. Yep, he had forgotten all about me. "Oh, good lord. So sorry." He hurries over and unsnaps one of my wrists from the bedpost. "Family emergency." And, whoosh, he's gone.

I unsnap the rest of my tethers and lay sprawled on the bed for a minute, listening to the Handel rippling away on the stereo. Despite the interruption, I am still so turned on that I feel shaky and can hardly think. My god, what that man was doing to my ears, and the rest of me, too. I am simply going to have to take care of myself right now, this minute. I wish I had some of my favorite solo toys with me, but I can certainly make do with my own hands.

I sit up to fluff the pillows strewn about the bed to make a comfortable nest, and as I do so, my eye falls on the coat tree in the corner by the door.

He forgot his umbrella. It suddenly occurs to me how much that stylish whanghee handle resembles one of my favorite g-spot toys. It really does, with its knobby ridges, and curve--some differences in angle and size, but really, not much. Not much different at all...and the length of the shaft would give some wicked leverage....

I feel a little sorry for any woman who hasn't learned to love her g-spot; it's like discovering you have an extra clit! The trick is to be thoroughly turned on, so hot you can't hardly think straight, before you start to give it the deep-pressure stroking that feels so incredible.

And I'm there, right now. I go get the black umbrella off the coat tree, smiling a wicked smile as I heft the handle in my hand. Oh, yes, this is going to feel very nice.

It does.

I give myself a thumping good orgasm, pressing and rubbing that whanghee handle inside me against my g-spot; the ridges are absolutely perfect for the job, and it's so nice that I go for two more little ones...light, sighing waves. Heavenly.

I sprawl back on the pillows, reveling in the afterglow. When my legs have stopped wobbling, I strip off the harness and cuffs and wander into the bathroom to go pee and wipe up. A hot bubble bath sounds lovely, and the tub is a huge claw-foot affair with gilded taps and fluffy towels, screaming pure decadence. I take the umbrella in with me to give it a good washing, but after the bath I decide that I'm not giving it back. I have a feeling that if M. Holmes knew what use it had been put to, he might not want it back. He seems the type. So, I think I'll add it to my toy box at home.

Giggling at the thought, I open the umbrella and prop it in a corner to dry, and climb back into the huge bed to snuggle down under the covers. The silly man paid for the room for the night, so I might as well have the use of it; I'll be cleared out before the maid service arrives in the morning.


End file.
